Chapter Thirty-Three

Nash

“I can give you the name of a great divorce attorney,” Chelle’s cowboy-cosplaying uncle said. “Just remember you dodged a bullet with that one. Guess I’ll be calling the lawyers to stop the appeal. No one yells quite like a harpy except for a real wife. Trust me. I’ve had four.”

It took everything Nash had not to squash the man like a cockroach. His hands were already fists at his side and he’d loosened his stance. What saved the dipshit, though, was the fact that Nash wanted to get back to Chelle more than he wanted to knock the other man into next week. It wasn’t even close. He wanted to be with Chelle more than he wanted to breathe.

So instead of sending Buckley Finch sprawling with a right hook, Nash snarled at the older man, “Fuck straight off and stay the hell away from Chelle.”

Then he headed toward the door, the crowd splitting in half as he strode to the stairs. He took them two at a time, his heart hammering against his chest, and sprinted down the hallway to Chelle’s obnoxious and so very much her yellow front door. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. Did he walk right in? Did he knock? Had he fucked up what she was signaling?

He had no fucking clue what to do.

Then the door swung open and the pugs burst out, a cacophony of barks and a blur of fur. Nash barely noticed. All he could see was Chelle. She had on a hideous Christmas sweater with a goat eating all the presents under the tree knitted in red, white, and green, her dark hair was going a million different directions, and she was gnawing on her full bottom lip while nervously clasping and unclasping her hands.

She looked absolutely, 100 percent perfect.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, a smile curling her lips.

Relief burned through him, melting the tension stringing him tighter than a watch turned too many times. He was moving before he realized it, closing the distance between them. “There was no way I could stay away any longer.”

He cupped her face with both hands, desperate to kiss her, to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, to do whatever it took to get her to take him back. But he shouldn’t, not yet. He had to fix things first, make her understand that he’d never fuck up again. Okay, realistically, he’d mess up again because he wasn’t perfect, but he’d fix it—just like he’d fix this.

“Chelle, I’m sorry.” He had no idea what he was going to say, but the words still came out fast and honest from some deep place inside himself that he hadn’t known was there—not until Chelle. “I fucked up because I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of not being the one to make things easier for you, scared of who in the hell I was if I wasn’t the one who took care of everything.” His heart hammered against his ribs as panic and hope and a bone-deep plea to the universe had him on the edge of freaking the fuck out. “It’s who I’ve been my whole life, and I have no clue who I am if not that, but I want to try to figure it out. And I want to do that with you, because I can’t imagine doing that or anything else without you.”

The tip of her nose turned bright red and she started blinking fast. “Nash, we need to talk.” She stepped back so he could enter. “Please, come inside.”

It felt like he was going to have a heart attack, or his brain was going to explode with the effort to keep his damn mouth shut, but he did. He followed her inside the apartment that felt like home because she was there.

He wasn’t going to say I love you or push her in any way, not yet. No matter how much he wanted their future together to start now, he had to give her time. And he had every intention of staying true to that mission, but then she let out a shaky little sigh, a softer version of the sound she made when she came, and something inside him snapped.

Kissing her, he put every desperate hope, every foolish dream, and every sacred promise into it. There was more, so much more, but it would take a lifetime to show her every way she made him a better man. He tilted her head back, deepening the kiss as she let out little moans of pleasure that shot straight to his dick. Breaking the kiss was the last thing he wanted, but he had to do it.

“You were amazing down there,” he said.

She pressed her fingertips to her kiss-swollen lips as she moved around him and closed her front door, leaning her back against it as the dogs disappeared into the living room. “I didn’t mean any of it,” she said, looking up at him as if she was afraid he’d missed her signal. “Not even one single part of it.”

Unable to stop himself from touching her, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So the line about constant advice from me that you never ask for?” He pulled her closer so she was tucked against him, all of her curves fitting perfectly against him. “And moving your furniture?”

“Oh!” She pushed away from him. “I have to show you!”

She grabbed his hand and led him into the living room. It was as bright and quirky as the first day he’d stepped—well, hobbled—inside, but she’d moved all of the furniture. The bookcases were arranged so Sir Hiss could hop from the top of one to another. The couch had been scooted over to the wall where he’d put it on their wedding night. The oversize chair, though, was still in its original spot. He sat down in it, and instead of having her sit on the ottoman like she had when she’d examined his ankle, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her.

Chelle snuggled against his chest, laying her head on his shoulder. “I was going to tell you all about it when I got to Gable House. How I couldn’t hear your advice because all I’d hear was the patriarchal bullshit of my family. I stuffed you in my emotional baggage, and that wasn’t fair.”

“I’m surprised I fit,” he said, dipping his head lower so he could kiss his way down her neck.

She shivered against him and pivoted so she faced him, her hands going to the buttons on his shirt, slipping them free one at a time as he held his breath. Once they were all undone, she spread his shirt and trailed her fingertips down his chest, teasing him not only with her touch but also with the look on her face that said she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“You are kinda big,” she said before leaning down and brushing a kiss to the spot above his heart, “but I did practically carry you up my stairs that first day.”

He started to laugh, but her busy hands went from his chest to the hem of her sweater, and he lost the ability to think when she lifted it over her head and tossed it to the ground. Part of him was yelling at him to stop her so they could have this conversation with their clothes on, but the rest of him pummeled that part to pieces. As long as he had eyes, he was going to want to watch Chelle Finch undress. The woman was fucking gorgeous, and he loved every part of her, from the silver streaks in her hair to the soft roundness of her belly to the thick thighs she’d used to help him get to her apartment that first day.

He’d spent his life helping other people, and she’d rescued him in every way possible from the moment they met.

“You were right about the layout,” she said with a wry shake of her head. “Just like you were with the kitchen color.”

“But not the book.” Overstepping wasn’t even a good enough word for what he’d done. He’d fucked up and had almost ruined everything. “That was wrong, and I’ll happily spend the rest of my life making up for it. I should never have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” She kissed him, a soft and sweet brush of her lips that still left him breathing hard. “But I’m going to say yes to the deal, and I’m going to dedicate the book to you. For the man with a huge heart and double dimples who changed my world and showed me that happily-ever-afters are possible in real life, too.”

“Not to mansplain your feelings to you, but that sounds a lot like love,” he said as he pulled her closer so she fit against his hardness, her velvety heat pressing against him.

God, this woman was going to kill him with pleasure, and he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her, seeing if this was the time when being with her was so good it killed him.

“Well, actually, in this case you’re right.” She kissed him, her supple lips teasing and tempting him like only she could before she sat back. “I love you, Nash.”

“I love you, Chelle.”

And then he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom so he could show her exactly how much and in how many ways he loved her, and always would.